Robocop and the Washing Up
by Binster
Summary: A harrowing account of one man's struggles with life. Apologies about the missing full stop from the final sentence.


Everyone is running away from something.

Some run away from their past. They seek to start a new life by assuming a different identity in an unfamiliar town. Others run away from commitments, sinking themselves to the bottom of a glass of whisky.

Robocop was running away from the washing up.

It was his own fault. He had let it build up for weeks, eating from pans when plates were exhausted and then from packets when no pans remained. He had been surviving on takeaways for the last week, accruing a disposable pile of clutter next to the porcelain and tefal mountain.

If Robocop had only dealt with each bowl and spoon as they were used he wouldn't be faced with so insurmountable a task. But that was not how Robocop did things. He would eat his fill, leave the bowl at the foot of his armchair for a few days before reluctantly transferring it to the ever growing 'To Wash' pile by the sink. I'll do it later, Robocop would think.

Well, later was now, and Robocop still couldn't face doing the washing up so he had left his flat and gone out to eat.

Robocop didn't dine out very often - he was rarely invited by anyone, and he had never got the hang of eating in public alone. It wasn't like it was a weird thing to do, he imagined. The number of hard bitten detectives on TV who would think nothing of grabbing a bite while on the case was easily in double digits. They didn't worry about everyone else in the restaurant staring and whispering. They just ate their god damned burger and to hell with everyone else. That's what hard bitten detectives think.

Not for the first time, Robocop wished he was a hard bitten detective.

He had to face it though - a cool, confident lone wolf Robocop was not. But he was hungry, and with limited utensils at home and a deep hunger, needs must. Robocop strode through the drizzly evening weather towards the nearest cafe.

* * *

It was a busy evening at "Dick's Cafe". Robocop's eyes darted from face to face of the other diners as he lurked outside (and to the left a bit) of the window. They all looked happy and lively. They were all talking to their fellow diners.

Ugh.

There was one table free - a four seater. Robocop dreaded the thought of sitting at such a luxuriously large table on his own. He could tell that the fates would conspire to bring in another diner or two, and he would have to share the table in uncomfortable proximity to strangers. Each of them sitting there, avoiding eye contact in case someone tried to make conversation.

Hellish though the idea was, Robocop was hungry so it was this or the washing up. Robocop knew which one he wanted to deal with less. He pushed the cafe door open…

...and tripped on the step, toppling loudly and comically onto his face. This was not a good start.

The chatter in the cafe was silenced as all eyes turned to the doorway. Robocop began to get to his feet as a waitress, two dirty teacups balanced on matching saucers in her left hand, gripped his upper arm in assistance.

"Oh my god, are you ok?" the waitress asked.

"Oh, er, yeah, I'm fine." Robocop mumbled in reply. He could feel his cheeks reddening.

Robocop looked at the waitress. She was wearing a name badge - "Chloe". She looked like a Chloe too, thought Robocop. Dark brown hair, curled a little around the ears. A light dusting of freckles on her cheeks. Pale blue eyes. The kind of girl he could imagine being the heroine of a teen fiction novel. She'd probably get into all sorts of trouble as she investigated the mysterious disappearance of her aunt's antique music box…

Robocop realised that he had just been staring at the waitress without saying anything, and became suddenly very self conscious. The waitress wore an expectant expression.

"So…" she began, "can I get you a…"

"...table for one," Robocop finished, and remembering his manners he added a quiet, "please."

The waitress led him to the empty table, picking up a menu on the way. She pulled a chair out for Robocop to sit, which he did.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" she asked, taking her order pad out of her pocket.

"Oh, er," Robocop cleared his throat a little, "could I have a cup of tea, please?"

"Ok," the waitress replied as she scribbled in the pad, before turning and walking away.

Robocop realised that he hadn't thanked the waitress for taking his order, and began to say "thank you" before he realised she had walked too far away for it to be appropriate. He let out a truncated "Uh-than-" before aborting the pleasantry. The waitress, attention caught by the noise, turned back to see what had caused it. Robocop looked the other way and hoped she didn't think it was him.

Well, so far so disastrous, Robocop thought. He glanced at the other people in the cafe - their chatter had resumed since he fell, but he was sure they were making subtle gestures in his direction. They were probably talking about how big a fool he was. Who trips over a step in a cafe? What an idiot.

Robocop looked down at the menu and tried not to hear the whispering. He should pick something to eat. Get out of here as quickly as possible.

There wasn't much to choose from. Sausage Egg and Chips, All Day Breakfast, Scrambled Egg On Toast… it was all very egg-centric. Robocop didn't mind too much - he loved eggs. He settled on an Egg and Bacon sandwich with Chips. Not too pricey, either - he was a little low on cash after all the take away food.

Movement at the periphery of his vision made Robocop look up from his menu. Oh for… this was precisely what he didn't want, but expected all the same - another diner was being seated at his table.

Diagonally across the table from Robocop, the waitress was taking the coat of a young woman. Robocop lifted his menu so the distance he would have to move his eyes to disguise his observance was minimised, and he proceeded to study his new dining companion.

Oh god, she looked like a Chloe too. Was Robocop surrounded by intimidatingly adorable crime fighters? As the woman sat she glanced up and made eye contact with Robocop. She smiled. Flustered, Robocop returned his gaze to the menu and pretended he hadn't noticed. He felt like a rabbit in front of a truck.

Wait, what was he thinking? She smiled at him - that was a good thing! Instead of panicking Robocop should have just smiled back. Who knows what would have happened after that? She might fancy him. They might get married.

Robocop was seized with a sense of adventure and hope - he was going to do something he never did. He was going to make small talk with a stranger. All he had to do was come up with an opening line.

Robocop drew an extremely deflating blank.

Think! Robocop thought. Think of something interesting to say to her! He searched lamely among the meals on the menu for inspiration.

"There, uh," Robocop said suddenly, taking himself and his fellow diner by surprise. She looked up from studying her own menu and made expectant eye contact.

"...there sure is a lot of eggs on the menu," Robocop finished.

The woman across the table didn't react.

Robocop replayed this short conversation to himself and realised he'd made a grammatical error.

"...are," he corrected.

His fellow diner stared for a short while longer, before responding "...mmm," and looking back down at her menu.

Massive debilitating embarrassment enveloped Robocop. It started as a warmth behind his eyes and in his cheeks before spreading throughout his body and roaring like poured gravel in his ears. The realisation of precisely how limp and uninteresting his egg observation had been was staggering, let alone the spectacular level of ineptitude he had shown in the telling. Combined it was a powerful display of mediocrity that Robocop felt left him no hope of redemption. He had been granted an opportunity to capture this woman's attention and he had done nothing so much as do a poo in a hat and wear it like it was something of which to be proud. Robocop had sat the test of proving one's worth as a person and he had eaten the answer sheet. He was a constant and thorough disappointment to everyone, especially himself.

Robocop realised his menu was tapping rapidly on the tabletop. His hands were shaking from the crippling anxiety of this abortive attempt at being normal. He had to get out of here.

He pushed his chair back as he rose to his feet, but it hit something. He turned round to see that he had just knocked the cup of tea that Chloe the waitress was bringing him and it had spilt down her front. She looked surprised and lost for words.

Robocop could barely keep from crying. He felt every eye of every person in the cafe regard him with disdain.

"Sorrysorrysorry," Robocop gibbered as he stumbled to get his feet out of the obstructed chair's legs and escape this scene of personal torment. He almost fell as he began a desperate hurried weave through the tables and chairs between him and the cafe's exit. As he left he knocked a table at which were seated a pair of old ladies, spilling their full cups of tea. They looked up at him with sour faces as he tumbled away out the door and into the night.

* * *

Robocop ran the sponge around the lip of another bowl. This was more like it, he thought. Clean dishes and cups! He regarded the ever growing assortment of crockery on the draining tray with immense pride. Here was a task at which he was succeeding. He had even ordered the plates by size and the cups by colour. It was such a lovely sight, so many clean cups and plates and knives and forks.

I've really done this washing up well, thought Robocop. He was happy. Happy and successful at doing something. He imagined all the meals he might eat from these clean plates, all the types of tea he might slurp from the cups. It was going to be wonderful. Robocop had all but forgotten about the unpleasantness of earlier.

And at the mere thought of having forgotten it, the events at Dick's Cafe suddenly and horrifically returned to Robocop's mind. He felt the step over which he had tripped. He heard the silence as he lay sprawled on the floor. He saw again the sour old women, the stained and angry waitress, heard the mocking laugh of the woman across the table, her dismissive horrible eyes staring at him, the laughter from the other tables as everyone saw how repulsively idiotic he was...

Robocop realised with shame that he had wet himself

THE END.


End file.
